Marc covered his chuckle with a cough. “‘A vibe’? Are you taking the piss?”
“Nope. Tell me I’m wrong.”
Crickets. Marc kept his eyes on the road, though he made no effort to hide his growing smirk.
Jamie mock-gasped. “You did fuck them.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Yes, you did—”
“No, I didn’t. I wouldn’t lie to you.”
“But something did happen?”
Marc shrugged. “A long time ago, when my marriage hit the skids. It wasn’t anything nearly as exciting as fucking... at least, not for me. I passed out drunk before the good stuff—story of my life when I get on the beers.”
“Lightweight?”
“Totally. I don’t do it often enough to have any resilience, though I get tempted when all my shit hits me at once. It’s probably the only time I halfway understand what it’s like for you.”
“That’s sweet, but don’t deflect from the good stuff by talking about junk. I want to know the jelly.”
Marc laughed. “Why?”
“Because you’re all smoking hot and the three of you together is a hell of a wet dream.”
“Well, dream it will have to stay, because it was over before it got started.”
“How so?”
Marc shrugged, and a vague hint of a flush crept up his neck. “We were smashed, and Nat got it into his head that I needed some practice with blokes. Him and me—he kinda knew I had a thing for him—and Connor is so fucking laid-back, you know? Anyway, it turned into a dare that I couldn’t refuse. Connor blew me while Nat fucked around with him, but I shot and passed out before they really got down to it.”
The comical disappointment on Marc’s face was hilarious, and Jamie felt his pain, even if it was a decade old. “That’s a real shame. I’d have paid to see that.”
“You’ll get it in stereo anytime you kip over there. Connor isn’t quiet.”
“Don’t reckon I’d be if I got fucked by Nat.”
“It’s not always Nat doing the fucking.”
“Wow. I’d never have thought that.”
“Why? ’Cause real men don’t get fucked?”
Jamie shook his head. “God no... of course not. It’s just Nat’s... I can’t imagine him giving up control like that, even to Connor.”
“You’d be surprised. If Nat had that much grip on himself, he wouldn’t have hooked up with Connor in the first place, but that’s another story. Besides, sometimes giving up—or losing—control is cathartic, especially when there’s no room for emotion elsewhere.”
The echo of Connor’s earlier words hit home. Jamie kicked his shoes off and drew his knees up to his chest. “So why don’t you do it, then?”
“What?”
“Lose control. I mean, I can see yougivingit up, but it’d still be on your terms, right?”
The car stopped. Surprised, Jamie glanced out of the window, but they weren’t home—just parked up at the side of the road. Marc turned the engine off and twisted in his seat. “Why on earth would you think that?”
Jamie shrugged. “You give me the control when we’re together, but it doesn’t feel like it’s what you really want. It’s like you’re worried about hurting me, or something, which is fucking ridiculous, because you couldn’t hurt me if you tried.” Marc shot Jamie a dark look, but Jamie shook his head. “I know you could kill me with one hand behind your back, but that’s not what I mean, and you know it—” And suddenly, it clicked. “Oh God—please tell me you haven’t got some screwed-up notion that hooking has left me scared of getting railed?”